I shrug. “Some people do.”
“Also, I shouldn’t be thanked for that. It’s the minimum.”
“For a lot of people, it seems like it’s above and beyond.” Sighing, I tap my fingers against the glass. “It’s why I don’t always ask, because I don’t want to give them a reason to go away.”
It’s the quiet part that I rarely say out loud, except with Dr. Nor. I’ve shared a little with Catherine and Kayla, but I never talk about this with my family. It took them too long to see—pun intended—beyond my disability, that it feels like this would set us back.
“Most people suck,” he says gruffly.
“You’re not most people.”
“I used to be.” He sighs. “When my brother lost his leg, most of the family babied him—including me. It drove him nuts. Then, one day, he just let us have it. Here my brother was, navigating this new reality, and I never realized that we were the bigger issue to him than his leg. We kept getting in the way of him just living his life, because we were so focused on what he’d lost.”
“My parents and Anker were the same after my Stargardt’s diagnosis. They held on a little too tight.”
“I know Anker is protective of you, but he doesn’t seem to be like that now.”
“He’s not. Not really. Neither are my parents. They simmered before I went away to college.” I take a sip of my drink and place it back down at ten o’clock. “Guess I should send your brother a ‘thank you’ card for breaking you in for me when it comes to proper inter-abled relationships.”
“He’ll love that.” He chuckles. “But don’t praise me for doing what should just be expected, and if I don’t, please don’t ever hesitate to ask for what you want with me. Call me out if I don’t do what you need or if I pull some ableist bullshit.”
“Agreed.” A light bubbly sensation fizzes inside me. “While you may not want to be praised for it, I’m still grateful. Often, I’m stuck—for lack of better words—training people. It’s made me hesitant to really put myself out there in so many areas of my life. Even with work. It’s just nice not to have to do that with you.”
He clears his throat. “Even with work?”
“As I’m pushing my personal boundaries, I’m starting to think about my professional ones. I worry I’m not pushing myself professionally. It’s safe for me. My boss is disabled. I work with disabled students. Outside of interactions with non-disabled faculty, it’s my comfort zone. Not to mention, I internedthere in grad school, so I knew what I was getting into when I applied.”
“But you love your job.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, offering a gentle squeeze.
With marathon training, the stronger my muscles get and the greater endurance I have to go further, it’s opening up my eyes to other ways in which I can grow. Over the last few months, I’ve made huge strides in relationships… Like forming a friendship with Kayla. I’ve also pushed past my fear of rejection to ask for the things I want. It makes me wonder how else I’ve boxed myself in, and what possibilities are out there if I break down those barriers, too.
“I do…” Nibbling on my lip, I nod. “I really do, but I also don’t know if it’s where I want to be. At least for my entire career.”
“What other things are you interested in doing?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure. At least, not entirely, yet. I like working with students and the program development portion of my job. Although I don’t get to do as much of that as I’d like. I’d like to find something that allows me to do a little bit more of both.”
“Expanding on the work you’re doing with the disabled students organization?”
My mouth lifts. “Yeah.”
“Is there something like that out there?”
“Not at Pemberly. Not exactly.” I tap my red-tipped fingernails against the table’s surface. “There are student services, but the program is more general. And the school is definitely lacking in resources for disabled students.”
While I worry that working within disability services doesn’t push me beyond my comfort area, I don’t want to leave my community. Even at a progressive university like Pemberly, disabled students are an afterthought.
“I’ll do some online research to see what professional options are out there. I’m not talking about changing careers in the next year, but I want to look at what the possibilities are in my future.” I sip my soda.
“Maybe we do Buffalo for the half-marathon.”
“What?” I cock one eyebrow.
He rubs his nape. “I know we talked about San Fran, but registration for Buffalo doesn’t close until next week, and it would give you a chance to spend time with Bryce. He and his husband, Marshall, run a non-profit which offers social activities and adaptive athletics for disabled people.”
“You want me to spend time with your brother?” My smile gets just a little bigger.
“For research.” He picks up his soda. “He was in the same position. He wanted to offer more resources to some of the patients he’s worked with as a PT, so Marshall and he cooked up an adaptive basketball league that then led to bowling nights, ski trips, and a bunch of other activities. Instead of waiting, he created what he wanted.”
